


What Lovely Dreams

by Faramirlover



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, PASIV sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5640502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faramirlover/pseuds/Faramirlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur really hopes this isn't all a dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Lovely Dreams

Arthur can’t be sure whether this is a dream or not but right now he doesn’t dare extricate his totem, afraid of what it’ll tell him. He resists the urge to slip his hand into his pocket and rub the curved and worn edges of his red die, and focuses on the way Eames’ fingers flutter against his Adam’s apple as a warm palm slides between open shirt buttons, spreading fabric and exposing pale skin to the dimly lit hotel room.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Eames (dream-Eames?) murmurs, his other hand coming to rest in Arthur’s perfectly coiffed hair, messing with the carefully gelled strands “So perfect.”

Arthur can’t help but blush, heat rising in his cheeks at the adoration in Eames’ tone, and reaches out to carefully trace the line of Eames’ jaw.

“If I’m perfect, it’s only because that’s how you see me,” he mumbles, drawing Eames down for a gentle kiss. When he pulls away Eames is grinning and Arthur almost gasps at the sudden bubble of happiness in his chest which greets the sight.

They watch each other for a few seconds, just enjoying the feeling of being in the moment, connected, together. And then Eames’ hands are everywhere, roughly tugging off clothing, dragging fingers against the notches of his spine, and his tongue is roughly twisting round Arthur’s as hips grind together, half naked bodies bucking to a frantic beat.

They separate long enough to shed the last of their clothes and Arthur takes the opportunity to press Eames into the mattress and straddle his - his what? Friend, partner, lover? - his _companions_ thighs.

“Feeling dominant, darling? Didn’t know you had it in you,” Eames mocks, his smile almost cruel, till its wiped from his face as Arthur grinds down against him. Hard.

“You’ve been so mean to me, you know. Those flirty looks and those filthy innuendoes. I think you’d better make good on some of your suggestions. Or I think you deserve to be punished.”

Eames moans at the timbre of Arthur’s voice and those sinfully slim hips that are making sparks of pleasure dance up and down his spine. Arthur chuckles against his lips before rolling sideways and pulling Eames on top of him.

“I am gonna fuck you so hard, darling,” Eames promises as he nudges Arthur’s thighs apart and settles between them.

He presses a slick finger - when did he get lube? - inside him and Arthur moans in part discomfort, part pleasure. Eames doesn’t stop, sliding the finger deeper, but raises his spare hand to rub the calluses on his fingertips against the newly discovered sensitive spot inside his thigh.

Everything seems to be going fast and slow all at the same time. One moment Eames is teasing against the rim of his hole, finger tips barely inside, the next his cock is there, blunt and thick and already too much to bear. And then he’s inside, filling Arthur up to the brim and it burns and brings tears to his eyes but he wouldn’t change it for the world. Time seems to hold there, Eames looming over him, almost shaking with the effort to hold still, Arthur squirming on his cock, overwhelmed by sensation and the pure adoration that is shining in Eames’ eyes.

The tension snaps and with a hard jerky motions Eames is fucking him properly. It’s _technically_ not the best sex he’s ever had – he’s not quite prepared enough for the pounding Eames is giving him and the position isn’t the best after such a long break and Eames’s rhythm is broken and stuttering - but in this case technicalities really don’t matter. This is everything he’s been waiting so long to have. It’s perfect. It feels so real.

It is real. He so wants to believe this is real.

He can barely do anything except lay back and take what Eames is giving him, hands clenched in the bed sheets, leg thrown around Eames’ back to keep him close, desperately trying to keep up with every kiss Eames demands. All too soon it’s too much, fingers flying to grasp at Eames’ arms, unable to say anything coherent, back arched and coming so hard everything turns white for a few moments.

When he comes back to himself Eames is gone.

Definitely a dream, then. He doesn’t bother pulling out his totem to check. This isn’t the first time he’s dreamt of Eames, only the first time things have gone this far. A quick rifle locates the gun in the bedside drawer, nestled between condoms and lube.

With a bitten off gasp he comes awake to the quiet _pshh_ of the PASIV, steady and reassuring in its familiarity, two shallow breaths enough to calm his racing heart after so many years of practise. He goes through the motions of packing away on autopilot only to be brought up short by the piece of paper tucked almost underneath the machine beside a chair Arthur had not pulled up to the table.

_What lovely dreams you have, Darling._


End file.
